Unemployed Men: The Original Wife Beaters

I can count on one hand the number of times I have used my blog as a means of debating or sounding off on an issue mentioned in the media. I prefer to blog about issues and problems that pertain directly to my life because I know these issues and problems better than anybody else. That's not to say that I don't keep abreast of what is going on in the world (I'm not that self-absorbed). Every once in a while, however, some of the more highly publicized issues peak my interest enough for me to want to blog about them. The one requirement is I have to have had a personal experience dealing with this issue. I never want to have to prowl the web or go to the library to do my blog posts. It's a blog, not a dissertation. Recently in the news, there's been a little flare up involving Senator Harry Reid and his opinions on the correlation between unemployed men and domestic violence. This issue is something I don't take lightly. I never did before, but now, as someone who has been assaulted by her husband, I have zero tolerance for it and the excuses that people, more specificly Senator Reid have come up with for why these acts of violence are perpetrated. The Senator basically cited unemployment for the reason that men are abusing their wives or significant others. He was trying to make a case for passing a bill in favor of creating more jobs but the purpose for his comment was completely lost on this dumbfounded observation.

I must say, however, Senator Reid is not alone in his opinion. After I let the cat outta the bag about my "situation" I was asked all kinds of ridiculous questions about why my husband (he was my fiance at the time) would do something like that. Was he on drugs? Was he stressed? The one question that kept recurring was, "Was he having issues at work?"

{{{{{Brace for explicit rant}}}}

WHO THE HELL DOESN'T HAVE PROBLEMS AT WORK? I DON'T KNOW OF ANYONE WHO IS COMPLETELY STRESS FUCKING FREE. IF THE ANSWER WERE YES TO THIS QUESTION WOULD IT MAKE A DAMN DIFFERENCE!!! IT IS NOT OKAY TO COME HOME STRESSED AND DECIDE TO CHOKE YOUR FIANCE. A STRESSFUL JOB OR NO JOB AT ALL DOES NOT LET YOUR PSYCHOTIC,DELUSIONAL, IRRESPONSIBLE ASS OFF THE HOOK!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Ahem, excuse me, now back to the issue at hand. The point is why, as a society, are we always coming up with these perfect reasons for these unfortunate situations that occur between men and women. If a man cheats multiple times he has a sex addiction. Now, according to Senator Harry Reid, if a man beats his wife and happens to also be unemployed, that serves as a plausible excuse for his behavior. In the words of my favorite comedian Chris Rock, "whatever happened to crazy?" Why does there always have to be some deeper, hidden meaning or reason why? Whatever happened to making bad decisions and suffering the consequences? This is America people, shit happens, people make piss poor decisions, and do fucked up things. It's as simple as that. STOP THE INSANITY with the clinical bullshit.

*Sorry about ODing on the Caps Lock key, but I had some shit I needed to get off my chest. All better now. Thanks!

Sincere Lee

Breathless

"I can't breathe" I mouthed to him.
He didn't hear me. He didn't see me.
The white of his eyes were bright as white light.
He was looking past me.
I didn't recognize him. He had become something else.
I closed my eyes and began to pray. God make him stop, God make him stop.
I could feel myself giving up, but still believing.
I can't recall how it started, or what it was about.
Shoes, I think it was about shoes. But it was bigger than that, he needed to have control.
His hands gripped my neck so tight, he squeezed tighter as he shook me.
Only the tips of my toes grazed the ground.
"You're choking me," I mouthed to him.
I closed my eyes. Let it be over. My voice was inaudible.
Like a child releasing a spinning top, he released me.
My body hit the wall and bounced back.
My balance was off.
I couldn't stand up straight. My view of the room was sideways.
I was gasping for air.
Gasping. for. air.
Gasping. . . for. air.
My whole body heaving back and forth.
One foot in front of the other, hands outstretched to help hold my world in place, I managed to stumble out of the bedroom.
"I HATE MYSELF,"
"I HATE MY MOTHER,"
"I HATE MY FATHER," he was screaming through clenched teeth, clutching his head. The pain was paralyzing.
In my brain there was no sound.
I felt like crying. My spirit couldn't comprehend, it was shattered.
A belly deep, eternal, aching in my soul.
God knows it hurt.
This isn't me.
This isn't my life.
I didn't grab anything, I didn't look back.
When I got to the door, I stopped.
If I leave the whole world will know.
I have nowhere to go.